


Setting Sail

by Boton



Series: Life in Sussex [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Retirement, Sussex Downs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-05
Updated: 2015-01-05
Packaged: 2018-03-05 11:10:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3117992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boton/pseuds/Boton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>First off, this work is gifted to Tammany.  Her story, "I Shall Arise and Go Now," with its wonderful meta-analysis notes, confirmed for me that I'm not crazy in feeling that we have all of the elements by the end of Season 3 of Sherlock for a perfectly ACD canon-compliant (or, at least, canon-respectful) end to the series over a decade from now.</p>
<p>So, this is a quiet story.  A little bit of a meditation.  A chance to stop and regroup at the midpoint of life before going on to new adventures.  It's not for everybody, but for those who like to think about such things, it's one possible hint at where our characters might be some 10-12 years from now, when ACD canon suggests that John will be entering his second marriage and a renewed focus on medicine, while Sherlock will be pursuing the life of a hermit near Sussex Downs.</p>
<p>Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and his universe are the creation of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Sherlock is the creation of the BBC and its partners, and of co-creators Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. This work is for my pleasure and that of my readers; I am not profiting from the intellectual property of those creators listed above.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Setting Sail

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tammany](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tammany/gifts).



John’s wedding changed things. Of course it did.

Sherlock thought about the small ceremony. Quiet. Restrained. So different from his wedding to Mary those many years ago.

John’s first wedding had been filled with the hope, the uncertainty, the optimism that always came with first weddings. For Sherlock, too. Then, tragedy. Mary insisting on being involved in the case gone so horribly wrong. Mary and the child snatched from John before he’d even grown accustomed to his life with them.

John had seen so much tragedy, so much death in his life, Sherlock thought. And so much of it seemed to come from proximity to Sherlock, from the love of danger, from the random chance that took relationships away as quickly as they came.

And through it all, there was John and Sherlock. Always the best of friends. The inseparable pair. Sherlock thought he must have choked back as many tears as John shed. Then, he set about putting his best friend back together, as he always did.

And somehow, John had recovered. Had thrown himself into their crime-solving partnership. Had slowly recovered until, years later, he met the woman who would give him a second chance at life.

The ceremony was quiet, with the kind of muted happiness that came from a new opportunity mid-way through life. Sherlock was happy, too. Happy to see his friend smile. Happy that John was moving on, recommitting to his medical practice, even if it meant that he no longer wanted to chase criminals. It didn’t matter. He would always be at Sherlock’s side in every way that counted.

Sherlock felt like a ship tethered in harbor, watching one and then another line attaching him to shore be looped off its mooring, bringing him ever closer to setting sail.

First, there was Mrs. Hudson. She had willed him 221 Baker, unwilling even in death to see him put out of the only place he had ever really called home. He could never bring himself to let out her flat, though, and 221C always was marred by the damp. And, now that John was moving on, it was time for Sherlock to go, too. He shut the door and turned the key in the lock, knowing that 221 Baker would always be a refuge for him in London.

Then, there was Lestrade. When he retired, Donovan, now a DI in her own right, took over the division. Donovan and Sherlock had long since stopped their battle of words, settling into a relationship that was professional if not collegial. But things had changed; Donovan didn’t call for Sherlock’s help like Lestrade had done, and Sherlock found that he didn’t mind all that much. His private clients kept him busy enough, and Sherlock had learned that there would always be another murder, another theft, another criminal to be stopped. The game went on, but he could not always fancy himself the only player.

And so, with John’s wedding, the last mooring had been cast to shore. Sherlock was free. He found that he didn’t mind the thought of leaving London. Everything that truly mattered, he would keep, and everything that didn’t would recede from view until he could no longer see the shore.

He got off the train and started walking; he always preferred to walk the two miles to the cottage, even though there were cabs available. London was for black cabs and furious chases; Sussex was for long walks and quiet contemplation.

He ran his hand through the closely-cropped hair on the sides of his head. While he still allowed some curls to run riot on the top of his head, he had acknowledged the silver wings on his temples by trimming them close. Janine had said that the greying temples and the crow’s feet lines that crinkled when he smiled gave her the impression of a bird taking flight. 

Janine. His unlikely yet inevitable port. After the Magnussen case, Janine had surprised him by reinitiating their friendship. At first, he called her when cases demanded that he show up with the disguise of a woman on his arm, Janine telling him that he always used work to excuse what he really wanted to do anyway.

Then, they were “friends with benefits,” falling more easily than Sherlock had ever imagined he could into the comforts of love in a growing relationship. In her, he discovered the pleasures of knowing a partner’s body as well as one’s own, of substituting the depth of a consistent partnership for the nervous excitement of someone new.

And, as time went by, it became natural for him to spend time in her cottage in Sussex Downs, disappearing for the weekend and returning refreshed. Without announcement or fanfare, Sherlock’s circle soon became accustomed to seeing Janine as a part of his life. 

Now, he was ready. It was time to set off on the next adventure. A quieter one, for sure; John teased him about going off to become a hermit. Sherlock smiled at the memory. He had never needed many people in his life; only a close, select few. He had finally learned that the cure for boredom was not the thrill of the new but the contentment of the known.

He walked up the path leading to the cottage and slipped his key in the door. Janine was sitting at the farmhouse table, barefoot, sipping her tea, and, Sherlock knew, keeping watch for his arrival. Her hair had some flecks of silver now, too, and she no longer held secrets for him but comfort and contentment.

“I’m home,” he said with a smile, taking flight as the wings of wrinkles crinkled his eyes. He was here to stay. And everything important would stay with him.


End file.
